The Truth About Tom Riddle
by Lilith-2009
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle was an evil, murdering, sociopath. Nothing possibly could change that...or could it? Was Tom Riddle an evil monster, or was he just a victim of horrible circumstances? This is the truth about Tom Riddle.
1. Prologue

**This is taken directly from HBP p. 246-258 "The Secret Riddle". I do not own Harry Potter or it's characters, as I am not JK Rowling. If you think I am, you're incredibly stupid.  
**

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In a bustling, old-fashioned London street a tall figure crossed the road in front of a horse drawn milk cart. The man had long auburn hair and beard. Having reached the other side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. The man walked a short distance, finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs Cole, who, I believe is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in the man's eccentric appearance. "Um…just a mo'…MRS COLE!" she bellowed over her shoulder. There was a distant voice that shouted something in response. The girl turned back to the man.

"Come in, she's on 'er way."

The man stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Almost immediately, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying towards them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked towards the man.

"…and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets - chicken pox on top of everything else," she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon the man and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.

"Good afternoon," said the man, holding out his hand. Mrs Cole simply gaped.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today." Mrs Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh, yes. Well - well, then - you'd better come into my room. Yes." She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eying him nervously.

"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.

"Are you family?" asked Mrs Cole.

"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."

"What school's this, then?"

"It is called Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.

"And how come you're interested in Tom?"

"We believe he has the qualities we are looking for."

"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one."

"Well, his name has been down for our school since birth -"

"Who registered him? His parents?"

There was no doubt Mrs Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for he slipped a stick of wood out of the pocket of his velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs Cole's desktop.

"Here," said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear." Mrs Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.

"That seems perfectly I order," she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few seconds before.

"Er - may I offer you a glass of gin?" she said in an extra-refined voice.

"Thank you very much," said Dumbledore, beaming.

It soon became very clear that Mrs Cole was no novice when it came to gin-drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"That's right," said Mrs Cole, helping herself to more gin. "I remember it as clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour." Mrs Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.

"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father for instance?"

"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story.

"I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty - and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for _her_ father - yes, I know, funny name isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus - and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word. Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since."

Mrs Cole helped herself, almost absent-mindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheek-bones. Then she said, "He's a funny boy."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I thought he might be."

"He was a funny baby, too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was…odd."

"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.

"Well he -" But Mrs Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.

"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"

"Definitely," said Dumbledore.

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing," said Dumbledore.

"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"

"Whatever," repeated Dumbledore gravely. She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" asked Dumbledore.

"I think he must be," said Mrs Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents…nasty things…"

Dumbledore did not press here, though he looked interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her cheeks grew rosier still.

"Billy Stubbs's rabbit…well, Tom _said_ he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so, no," said Dumbledore quietly.

"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then -" Mrs Cole took another swig of gin, slopping a little over her chin this time, "on the summer outing - we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside - well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but _something_ happened in there, I'm sure of it. And well, there have been a lot of things, funny things…" She looked at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady.

"I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."

"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" said Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," said Mrs Cole with a slight hiccough. She got to her feet and Dumbledore was impressed to see that she was quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising up too.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans were all wearing the same kind of greyish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared-for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.

"Here we are," said Mrs Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stepped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr Dumberton - sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you - well, I'll let him do it."

"How do you do Tom?" said Dumbledore, walking forwards and holding out his hand.

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**And so it begins! Just a little side note, I will be updating my other story just as soon as the pink plot bunnies stop biting me over this one.**

**I accidentally wrote 'Harry was impressed to see that she [Mrs Cole] was quite steady'. I was copying directly from the book (in case you haven't noticed) at some ungodly hour and I'm proud to say that was like, the only time I wrote Harry. The other times I got halfway through his name and realized what I was doing :D. Thanks Maurader's Queen for pointing that out!  
**


	2. The Meeting

Tom Riddle sat in his small room. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. Tom was sitting on top of the grey blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book. However, Tom was not reading. He was thinking. Tom knew somebody was with Mrs Cole, probably talking about him. That's all people seemed to talk about recently. The rabbit was not his fault, even if he had wanted it to happen. Number one it was impossible to make an animal do what a person wishes, number two even if he had it was Billy Stubbs' fault. He shouldn't have done…_that._ He almost hoped the strange man was another psychiatrist come to talk to him. Maybe if he acted crazy they would take him away from this godforsaken place.

Mrs Cole came in and horribly mispronounced his name, as Tom could see by the look of humour on the man's face. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the man's eccentric appearance. There was a moments silence.

"How do you do, Tom?" asked the man, walking forwards holding out his hand. Tom hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. The man drew up the hard wooden chair beside Tom, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" repeated Tom. Well, he hadn't actually thought they'd send him a doctor. He wasn't quite so sure about leaving to go to an asylum.

"Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did _she_ get you to have a look at me?" He was pointing at the door through which the vile woman had just left.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.

Tom didn't believe him. What kind of Professor was he, if not a doctor? Mrs Cole had really done it this time. He hated people who lied, so he did the only thing he could think of. He got together all of his confidence to say the next words.

"I don't believe you," he said. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" He made sure to speak the last three words with as much force as possible. It usually worked when he did, for it was quite intimidating to hear a command like that. Tom eyes widened as he glared at Dumbledore, who had made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. That had never happened before. Usually people started talking immediately, so much so it almost seemed against their will. Maybe he did need help. I mean, look at him, glaring at a man because he wasn't affected by something he wasn't sure was even real.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come."

This was just too much for Tom. He could take very little of the constant suspicion surrounding him and to have someone lie to him like this was just horrible. The Dumbledore man should just tell him 'you're crazy, so we're shipping you off to an asylum now' not tell him he was to go to a school. He hated liars. Tom leapt from the bad and backed away from Dumbledore, face clearly showing anger.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor', yes of course - well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" Tom said ferociously. Okay, that wasn't _entirely_ true, but he didn't know that he was hissing. He didn't know said hissing would attract all those snakes. And he certainly didn't know Amy and Dennis were terrified of snakes. All Tom wanted were friends, but weird stuff always happened or they were mean to him.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you -"

"I'd like to see them try," sneered Tom, being at intimidating as possible. It didn't work.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Tom's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities -" again, this was too much. To use euphemisms for insanity was just plain wrong.

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

There was a silence. Tom had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, trying to catch one of them lying.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.

"That's right," said Dumbledore.

"It's…it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," breathed Tom. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." Tom replied, remembering all that he had done throughout the years. Tom realized he made it sound as though he could control such things, thus making him more creepy than he really was, but he didn't care. If Dumbledore thought he was creepy, all the better. More people stayed away from him that way.

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forwards and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Tom intently. "You are a wizard." Tom lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon, yet for some reason it did not make him better-looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher. Tom knew this, but he was so happy. He got to leave this place, and he got to learn magic. Which brought him to another point. Was Dumbledore also a wizard?

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Tom, in the same tone he had used when he had said 'tell the truth', however this time he didn't know he had done it. He meant to say it softly, no more than a whisper.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts -"

"Of course I am!" What a stupid question that was. Tom would take any chance he could to get out of this hellhole.

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'."

Tom felt his expression harden. Surely the man had known how exciting this was. It's not like he could remember his manners at a time like this, the single most important moment in his young life. Tom hadn't meant to cross the line. He hoped the Professor would still take him. To make up for his previous lapse in manners, he said just the way his teachers taught him, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me -?"

Tom was sure that whatever chance he had had at Dumbledore showing him magic now he had destroyed with the commanding tone his voice had immediately gone into. It was the only way he knew to get what he wanted; nobody around here listened to politeness. Though it's not like Dumbledore would understand that. Tom was brought out of his thoughts by Dumbledore taking out a long, thin, stick of wood from his pocket. He pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner and gave the stick a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Tom jumped to his feet and howled in shock and rage. Everything that ever meant anything to him was in there. How _dare_ Dumbledore burn it. Tom turned toward Dumbledore, but the flames vanished and the wardrobe was completely undamaged. Okay, Tom had to admit that that was the most spectacular thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

"Where can I get one of them?" Tom asked pointing at the wand.

"All in good time," said Dumbledore, causing Tom to fight rolling his eyes. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe." And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. Tom knew, though he didn't know how, that it was Amy, Denis, and Billy's things he had taken after the…_incident_. Tom was frightened, not of what Dumbledore was going to do because of the stealing, but of the questions he was sure to ask. Questions of why he had taken the objects. Questions Tom was not ready to answer. Probably never would be.

"Open the door," said Dumbledore. Tom hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above the rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out," said Dumbledore. Tom took down the quaking box. This was starting to get seriously creepy. Tom wondered if he was in a nightmare.

"Is there anything that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore. Tom gave Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. He wanted to know how much about this Dumbledore knew. Always in favour of honesty, Tom was not going to lie about this.

"Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it," said Dumbledore. Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents on to his bed without looking at them. He didn't wish to remember the events that caused him to stoop so low as to steal from his tormentors. Tom would've felt sorry for Amy, Denis, and Billy had they not done what that had. Tom knew what it felt like to have so few things, and understood how devastating it would be to have that taken away from him. However Amy, Denis, and Billy _had_ taken things way too far, so this was the only way to ensure they were punished. Even if they deserved _way_ more than what they got.

Tom didn't have to look down to know what the objects were; Billy's yo-yo, Amy's silver thimble, and Denis' tarnished mouth organ. Tom didn't have to look down to know they had stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting the stick back into his jacket. Tom was quickly losing respect for the man. He didn't even ask why Tom had stolen the objects. Not that Tom would've told him, but still, to know how little someone thought of him, even before they had gotten to know each other, did not feel good. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Tom did not feel remotely abashed; he was standing coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore, trying to figure out if Dumbledore knew what was going to happen to Tom when he went to Amy, Denis, and Billy with the stolen objects. Though now that Tom knew he was a wizard, he supposed his magic could protect him when something bad happened. So at last Tom replied in a colourless voice, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have - inadvertently, I am sure - been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic - yes, there is a Ministry - will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by out laws."

"Yes, sir," said Tom again, fighting back tears. There went his new means of defence. Tom made sure not to show Dumbledore this, he knew that when you showed weakness to another person, they exploited it. So his face remained blank as he put the stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spell books and so on second-hand, but -"

"Where do you buy spell books?" interrupted Tom, who had taken the money-bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold coin. As if Tom was going to be polite after what had just taken place.

In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything -"

"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, looking up. He really did not want to be in this man's presence longer than required.

"Certainly, if you -"

"I don't need you," said Tom. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley - sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye. He thought Dumbledore would insist accompanying him, as many adults usually do. After all, London wasn't a place for eleven year olds. Thankfully Dumbledore handed Tom the envelope containing his list of equipment, and, after telling Tom exactly how to get to a place called the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you - non-magical people, that is - will not. Ask for Tom the barman - easy enough to remember, as he shares you're name -"

Tom gave and irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Tom, the lie not coming out easily. Tom, he knew, was the name of his father, the man who had left his mother to die, causing him to live here.

"Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So - when I've got all my stuff - when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there, too."

Tom nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Tom said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips - they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?" Tom didn't know why he said it. Maybe he just had to know if he was insane, or just different. Maybe he wanted to impress Dumbledore.

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Tom's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.

"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

Tom nodded once again. _Oh, and Dumbledore, Amy, Denis, and Billy took more from me than I ever took from them._


End file.
